


Out of Tartarus

by GorseMonster



Series: Far Beyond Paradise Lost [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers Spoilers, Nonbinary Character, Other, Patch 5.0: Shadowbringers Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-08 01:29:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19861297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GorseMonster/pseuds/GorseMonster
Summary: Two days after a satisfying victory, Ira Baragawa feels a hollow inside their heart. The pain of the truth is overwhelming, and they would do a lot to change the definition of that truth.[Story is set post-5.0, be wary for here be spoiler dragons.]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Good morning! After the events in 5.0 and Amaurot, I started writing this fanfic to vent a lot of the feelings, frustration and grief I experienced over the loss of an absolutely incredible character. This is written with the Warrior of Light being my own personal character, rather than a simple stand-in as a conceptual being.
> 
> Please excuse my self-indulgence in this time, and read and enjoy and share the pain with me if you like!

It had been six days since the events at Amaurot. Two days after those events, Ira’s sprightly step slowed, and their enduringly tolerated impish habits all but disappeared. They still smiled and gave a content greeting when seeing the other Scions, but every last one of them wordlessly noticed how the lalafell did not demand to be shoulder-carried, did not clamber the nearest surface to be taller, and did not present them with whatever new and strange wildlife they had encountered outside the Crystarium.

Ira Baragawa was never what any Scion could have expected out of Hydaelyn’s champion, but they fought like a beast from the void, and cared deeply for everybody they encountered. Alisae knew this best; Ira had promised, in quiet words, that they would never leave her in her time of need. Alisae might have described Ira as a parent figure had the lalafell’s disposition been less impish. But it was to these ends Alisae realised that Ira’s carefully guarded devotion to those around them was what was breaking them so; and how much it must be, given that not one of the Scions had confessed to hearing an outpouring from the short-stack hero.

Had any of the Scions been of the prying variety, an ear to the door of Ira’s room at The Pendants would have provided insight into the lalafell’s anguish.

Soft, sleeve-muffled sobs came from Ira’s mouth, as their middle finger and thumb pressed together, red and sore, and swiftly moved apart with a  _ snap! _ that drew a muffled yelp from their lips. They had spent some time talking with the shades in Amaurot, learning all they could of creation magic. Mimicking everything they saw of Emet-Selch’s. A few faint sparks of aether dusted off their fingers and they wailed in frustration, something they knew they could do, something they  _ remembered _ , by the Twelve how they remembered, almost lost in their dreams but resolidified by all they’d seen and heard and how they wished they could have shared it with Emet-Selch before it was too late.

“Emet…” Ira hoarsely choked out between sobs. “You were all but a god,” they sniffled. “An old one at that.”

Fingers pressed together firmer, the snap louder than before. Purple aether sparked and dissipated into nothingness.

“And I’m...something new,” they continued, blowing cool air on swollen, red fingertips. “But I get the feeling, somehow, that once upon a time…”

Ira took a few shaking breaths, swallowing the sobs that threatened to take them over at any moment, tears spilling freely from their eyes, dripping onto their shirt, just as they had the night they had challenged him.

“...we were young together.” There was a firmness in their voice, and their fingers snapped clearly and cleanly, a rush of aether surrounding their hand, enough to put out the aether-powered lamps in the room as gold aether, tangled with streaks of purple swelled, glittered, and fizzled out. The lights came on a few moments later, and Ira’s breath stopped in anticipation, to see that overtall presence of the Ascian.

The window remained unblocked, a sunless sea before them. Ira’s hands curled into fists as they felt their grief rear its head, snapped out of it a second later by a sharp pinch in their right hand.

“Eugh! What in the…” Ira’s fingers uncurled, their mouth open in disbelief. Or was it relief?

A single pearl, dangled neatly from gold moulded into the shape of a diamond. A single earring. This earring was not a replica made of nascent creation magic. The metal was scuffed and the pearl had a patina only gained from being worn as favoured jewellery. It had a clip in place of being made for pierced ears, which Ira was so very sure Emet-Selch had.

The turned it in their fingers, having seen it closely only once before; when they attempted to demand being toted on the Asican’s shoulder. By force. By leaping from a high surface. It didn’t end well for Ira, and they found themselves scraping their knee on the ground as Emet-Selch stepped out of the way.

For the first time in six days, Ira’s smile reached their eyes as a choked, sobbing laugh came from their chest at the memory.

A commotion outside the door took Ira out of their reverie, muffled voices mostly until Alisae’s rang true.

_ “I know them best, I get to check if they’re okay first!” _ She shouted, countered with a muffled protestation from Urianger, of many words Alisae was not listening to as she burst through the door.

“Ira! Are you okay? All the lights went out and Ryne said there was a surge of aether in…”

That smile. That godsdamned smile. Though it had yet to be a week Alisae felt like she hadn’t seen it in years. Bloodshot eyes, thumb and middle finger blistered, but the smile beaming on Ira’s face said so much. But as the elezen’s eyes settled on the earring in Ira’s hand, it did not yet say enough. She knew this decoration and all that rage she felt that night burned through her body again.

Alisae took a breath, focusing on Ira’s smile. “Do you want to talk?” She asked with the softest pull of a smile at her lips.

Ira took a moment, their fingers closing around the pearl earring before nodding, slumping into a chair with an exhausted breath.

“I’d like that very much.”

A knock on the door interrupted Alisae as she was about to speak; her brother’s voice imploring her.

“Alisae? Alisae! Let us in; is Ira alright?” Alphinaud’s tone was forceful as the doorknob twisted, Alisae leaping to slam it shut.

“They’re  _ fine _ , Alphinaud! We’re  _ talking! _ ” she huffed. “Come back in a bit. Please?” Her tone was softer then, and the door stopped rattling as she leaned against it.

“We shall returneth in the morrow. Prithee do not keep us waiting, Mistress Alisae,” Urianger’s voice was soft, and soon after footsteps disappeared down the hall, leaving Ira and Alisae with some quiet. When the elezen turned, she found Ira once again transfixed by the earring in their hand.

“Ira..?” She asked as she laid a hand on the lalafellin’s shoulder, sitting next to her on the same chair - she had noted in the past that Ira simply enjoyed close proximity to people, but it was usually expressed in the demand to be carried ‘pon a shoulder. “Ira, where do you want to start with this?”

Ira leaned into Alisae’s side, allowing the woman to drape an arm around them. “I knew him, Alisae. Not from here, in the First, I...knew him. When he said his name, I remembered. Not clearly, but when you remember a dream. Like grabbing at smoke.”

Alisae remained silent, stroking Ira’s shoulder with her thumb, listening and giving a soft nod that bade Ira continue.

“I...went back there. A couple of days later. It’s still there, you know. I saw those spires and it wasn’t new to me any more. I knew those lights, those streets. I was  _ home _ , Alisae. I spent all our weeks here on the first antagonising him, and right there at the end, when it was too late, I felt…” they trailed off, tears welling and pouring from their eyes. “I killed a friend,” they choked out between sobs, burying their face in Alisae’s arm.

“I can’t claim to know what you’re going through but, I...sympathise. We’ve all lost so many. But, might I ask, what have you been doing, locked up in here?” Alisae pondered, giving Ira a gentle squeeze of a hug.

Ira held out their other hand, not blistered by hours of trying to use creation magic, and snapped their fingers cleanly. The lights flickered momentarily, and a flower landed in their palm, a lily with golden stamen and stigma.

“Trying to bring him back.”

Alisae recognised the way the flower materialised as the same creation magic that the Amaurotines had talked about. Any doubts she had at the back of her mind about Ira’s memories dissolved, replaced with even more questions. It wasn’t the time to press them with these questions though. That would come later; for now she only wanted to comfort her dear friend.

“Like he did with Y’shtola? But, you…” she trailed off as Ira’s fingers dug into her arm sharply. “Do you still have that lamp he made?”

The lalafell went very still, before bringing their head up. “I do. I put it in the cabinet,” they started to mutter, scuttling out of Alisae’s hold and off the chair, wandering over to the drawers in the room and pulling them open one by one with their free hand, the other still tightly gripping the pearl earring. A soft gasp came from their mouth as they pulled the small lantern out, the light just the faintest sputter, only perceivable in the dim light of the room. If the earring truly were the real thing, managing to pull even that out of the aether was remarkable with how strong the barrier was in the room.

Alisae’s chest heaved with a sigh, for as much as she wanted to see Ira’s pain soothed, the feeling of helping bring  _ him _ back gnawed at her throat and settled like shards of ice in her waist. But she trusted Ira, more than was sensible at times, but she trusted them.

“You should rest, but tomorrow we’ll go and find somewhere.” Alisae rose from her chair and stepped over to Ira, kneeling to give them a tight hug. “We’ll not tell the others. Not yet, at least.”

Ira pressed theirself into the hug with a soft nod. “I know it’s a whole lot, but this means the world to me.”

Standing back up, Alisae gave a soft nod and headed to the door, fingertips resting on the handle. “I’ll tell the others you were overwhelmed with the events of the last few days. We’ll leave in the morning before everybody’s up and about.” Alisae turned the handle and the door creaked open, thankfully nobody eavesdropping outside.

“Thank you, Alisae,” Ira said with a warm smile, waving softly as Alisae left the room. Left alone, they placed the earring on the table, covering it with a mug so that an errant breeze would not blow it somewhere else in the room. Shedding their layers of outerwear, they opted for a loose shirt and shorts, crawling into bed and slumping on it exhaustedly. For the first time in days, sleep swallowed Ira whole without more than a few passing moments.


	2. In A Snap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With a little help from their proxy daughters, Ira returns to Amaurot with renewed vigor to bring Emet-Selch back from the lifestream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back to the post-5.0 angst therapy pain train! Thank you to everybody who has read so far, and I hope you continue to enjoy! <3

Ira woke in a cold sweat, cold morning air filling their lungs as their body forcefully broke them from their slumber. The sun had barely begun to lighten the sky, not yet having washed out the night’s sea of stars. The lalafell groaned in pain, their chest sore, skin tingling with a distinct corrosion-burn sensation, and deeper within, a pain Ira couldn’t quite quantify. They lifted their shirt to find the source of the pain, but the only mark was a faint, thumb-sized pale mark on their sternum, like an old scar.

The memory of the night prior hit Ira like a truck and they scrambled off the bed, dashing over to the table where the upturned mug still sat, lifting it and looking with relieved eyes at the pearl earring laying on the wood. Their vision clouded as tears filled their eyes, spilling rapidly and freely. “It wasn’t a dream…” Ira whispered, taking the earring and clipping it to their lobe, the weight of it hanging there oddly comforting. Grabbing a bag and shoving the aether lamp inside it, along with some basic travel supplies, Ira readied for the day, donning denim trousers, a leather jacket they pilfered from Eureka so many moons ago, and the sharp metal darklight gauntlets acquired from Rowena when the world was so much smaller; when the world was just Eorzea to them.

A very quiet knock at the door alerted Ira to Alisae’s entrance, the elezen already dressed, armed and ready as Ira was pulling on heavy boots. Her fingers curled as she saw the pearl dangling from Ira’s ear, swallowing her rage again. From the armoire, Ira pulled out a rapier and focus, clipping them to their belt. With a tense outward breath, they looked up to Alisae and nodded. “Let us be off before the others awake.”

The Crystarium was astonishingly quiet at this hour, even as the sun now washed out the stars completely. The only folk awake at this hour were vendors setting up for the day, and the amaro keepers, who were exactly the folk Ira and Alisae were headed for. And they almost made it the entire way without being bothered once until a soft voice called after the two.

“I’m coming with you!”

Ira flinched, turning their head to see Ryne’s pleading face. She knew. She must have known the whole time. She knew individual aether like no other and Ira knew she must have realised on the first night they started trying to pull the Ascian back out of the aether. “Please. I know you’re hurting. I want to help,” she begged, approaching Ira and kneeling to meet them face-to-face.

Ira’s mouth opened and closed several times as they tried to formulate a response; a reason Ryne should not go, an accusation that she didn’t know where they were going. But they knew she knew. The acid-burn tingle on Ira’s chest intensified for a moment, their thoughts making them more aware of that grinding, chronic pain. With time so short, Ira sighed and made their decision, before more Scions realised that they were going to Amaurot.

“Alright. But, only because it’s you, Ryne. Don’t tell anybody. _Especially not Thancred_ , please, gods _do not tell Thancred_ , okay?” Ira babbled, placing a hand on Ryne’s shoulder. The young girl gave a gentle nod with a sigh. “You know I am not one to lie, Ira, but I understand why we must.”

“Thank you, Ryne. Now, let us be about it before anybody else wakes up.”

The rest of the walk to The Amaro Launch was undisturbed, though Ira had a notably anxious half-jog to their gait, all but sprinting up the stairs as they ran up to one of the keepers, a hand raised to gain the bestial man’s attention. “Excuse me! We’d like to go to Wright!” The Amarokeep lifted his head to inspect the group and hummed softly in thought. “We have one, yes. You are all very much small, so this should be suitable.”

Alisae and Ryne looked...offended. But yes, they conceded that the three of them together were a far smaller party than two of any other Scion.

“That will be quite alright. Is the amaro ready for flight now?” Alisae asked.

“Yes, of course. Please follow me,” the Amarokeep wandered down the path, giving a large amaro a gentle pet on the jaw. “You will take these people to Wright,” he calmly instructed the amaro, which looked at the two young women, and Ira. It let out an agreeing wurble and padded over to the group, allowing the three to clamber onto its back. Its wings stretched out and its legs powered it forward, off the platform. Its four wings caught the wind, and with a somewhat surprised yelp, the trio found themselves on their way to Kholusia.

* * *

By the time the three had arrived at Wright, the sun had fully risen; the sky a stunning rich blue, swirled with wispy cirrus clouds as the winds high above whipped them into shape. The smell of the sea filled their lungs, fresh and umami all at once. While they could not get an amaro to take them down into The Tempest, they could at least get close enough for Ira to use the aetheryte deep beneath the ocean’s surface.

“Yes, I’ve got a good enough connection here. It’s..harder to take more people with me. I could have gone alone from the Crystarium but not with both of you,” Ira said, squinting as they honed their sense in on the crystal at Ondo Cups. Amaurot was too far beyond their reach to take passengers. But at least it would save them all a swim.

“Are you quite sure? We can take a boat and swim if must needs,” Alisae offered. Ira shook their head, quite sure in their decision. “No, I’m confident there’ll be no problem,” they answered, taking Alisae’s hand and Ryne’s hand.

The wind whipped around the three of them as the aetheryte’s connection tethered them there, the ground feeling more distant as first their essences, and then bodies were whipped away into the stream. Just moments later, the three emerged in Ondo Cups, standing just as they were at Wright’s aetheryte. The light from the sky filtered down through the dome of water, leaving dappled markings on the damp sea floor sand.

Ryne gave a gasp, pulling her hand free of Ira’s to brush herself down. “Wicked white! How does one use those as much as you do?” she asked, trying to shake the strange feeling from her body. Ira gave a slow shrug, as if the use of the aetheryte’s tethers was simply second nature to them. “I won’t lie; it wasn’t easy at first. But, I’ve been using aetherytes for, well, a bit less than either of you have been alive,” they said with a grin and a wink.

“One could forget in an instant that you’ve lived our collective lifetimes, Ira. Don’t you think it unbecoming?” Alisae said teasingly. Ira puffed out a laugh, stretching as they began the long walk down into the trench, down towards Amaurot. Alisae gave a soft chuckle and shrugged to Ryne, following after the lalafell.

The three of them walked in silence for a while, the same question on both Ryne and Alisae’s minds. Or at least, Alisae thought until Ryne finally broke the silence as their feet trod across the glowing white coral roots bridging the gap between the upper shelf of The Tempest. The tops of Amaurot’s spires could just barely be seen through the ocean mist.

“Ira, would you be offended if I were to ask a question on the personal side?” Ryne asked delicately. Ira felt like they could already answer the question, but like Alisae, was wrong.

“Your left eye. Are you blind in it?”

Ira’s anxious march slowed a bit as a soft ‘huh’ came from their lips. “Not the question I was expecting. It’s a bit of a story, and I suppose we have a way to go,” they mused, the red mage unclipping their focus from their belt, the object floating just above and to the left of their head, sparking alight with fire that repelled the beasts around them.

“I grew up in a place called Limsa Lominsa. Not geographically unlike Kholusia. But I am not exactly...adapted for that climate. My family, for hundreds of generations, were from a dry place. Our eyes grow a natural protective barrier against the sand, but that doesn’t develop in a humid place like Limsa.”

Ira leapt a gap, a powerful spring in their step as they illuminated the ledge for Alisae and Ryne. “There was an explosion down at the docks, and a shard of light-aspected crystal embedded itself in my eye. My family took me all the way to Sharlayan to have their best scholars and healers try the fix it.”

Alisae was second over, and then Ryne, caught in the hands of the elezen and lalafell. Ira paused their story to ask if Ryne was okay after the jump, which drew a confident nod from the young hume.

“So, I was brought to Sharlayan. By this point the shard had started to spread its influence through my eye. Just a little splinter, but soon my eye started to look like marble. It was too late to remove the splinter with the aether now spreading. So, the Sharlayans did the next best thing next to removing my eye. The aether was removed from my eye, blinding me entirely on my left side. I cannot compensate in the way Y’shtola does.” “So, that is why the aether in your left eye is…” Ryne started, drawing her fingers to her chin in thought.

“Yes. Thankfully it had not spread into any other part of my skull or perhaps I...would have been the source’s first Sin Eater, instead of nearly being the First’s last.” The weight of Ira’s words hung in the air like thick smoke, a low sigh escaping their body. “I’m sorry. It’s been a...harrowing few weeks.”

Ryne withdrew her hand, not really knowing what to say, wishing she had not pried. “Please don’t feel bad. I was very young, and perhaps in a way it prepared me for...that,” Ira comforted, gesturing out at the glittering spires of Emet-Selch’s fabricated Amaurot. With Ira’s story, it felt like the long trip was shortened vastly, already there at the elevator. Ira bought out the aether lamp, the glow already beginning to flutter into life.

As they descended the elevator, Alisae finally found her voice. “Are you sure what you’re doing is the right thing?” There was no rage here, simply cautiousness, worry for Ira. Ira’s eyes were fixed on the lamp, watching the glow brighten with each foot descended into the depths below.

“The only time I was ever sure about something, I murdered a good man,” they answered. “And that’s why I can’t tell you I’m sure now.”

At the ground floor, the streets were still lit by flower-like lamps and the shades of Amaurotines wandered, going about the faded remnants of peaceful days. Occasionally they would stop to regard the three, and marveled at the lamp Ira carried, pointing out the way to a place where they could work creation magic best, where the barrier between the physical and the aetherial was barely there. The glow of the lamp could challenge the streetlights with how brightly it shone, outside the illusory tower of an apartment block; grander in every way to the housing districts in Eorzea.

Ira set the lamp down on the ground, unclipping the clawed gloves and sliding them off their hands. They breathed in, and out once, in again, out again. Their thumb and middle finger pressing tightly together. A clear vision in their mind; Emet-Selch, Garlean, Ascian, whole again.

The snap rang out clearly and Alisae and Ryne held their breath. Aether shimmered through the air, a nebula of magic swirling before the group’s eyes, but no Ascian to be seen. Ira’s brow furrowed. _Emet-Selch. Garlean. Ascian. Whole again._

Barely-healed blisters split as fingers snapped, the street lights flickering, a faint fizzing sensation on Ira’s sternum. _Emet-Selch. Garlean. Ascian._ ** _Whole again._** Fingers snapped and drew a yelp from Ira, blistered skin sloughed, leaving raw, new flesh open.

“Ira…” Ryne pleaded, staying Ira’s hand as they went to try again. Ira’s body shook as they broke down into tears, falling to their knees, the tightness in their throat turning their wail into a harrowed keening. The lamp glowed brightly still, unwavering.

“One more try,” Ira sobbed. “One more. Please. Please, I can’t...I have to _try_ ,” they begged, leaning into Alisae’s arms as the elezen knelt to comfort them. _‘One more try’_ , Alisae knew from experience, meant until the Warrior of Light had done some form of harm to themself in the effort. But she also knew this was often the only way.

It was a few minutes of silence, bar the soft sobs of the lalafell, until their breath calmed enough to focus their mind. They remembered a phrase they had heard so often. About asking the right question. Now, they had to picture the right person.

Ira’s mind screamed, cleanly, clearly, never more sure of anything in the world. _Hades. Amaurotine. Architect._ **_Whole again_ ** _._ His name, _his name_ , escaping into the open on the faintest breath as their fingers snapped, and all the lights went out.

Liquid ice poured through Ira’s body, from sternum, through and out their spine, their body tethered into the aether by their own heart. The world spun wildly, a field of infinite aether before their eyes, stars of souls drifting between here and nowhere. Shards of a soul pulling together, the acid burn sensation spreading further across Ira’s sternum and spine. Ryne and Alisae’s voices became distant, panicked and trying to get them to respond. Ira heard _his_ voice, so plainly, in a language they did not understand, before that sinking feeling of drowning under ice left as fast as it had arrived, returning them to awareness.

“Ira! Gods, I thought we’d lost you. You went stiff as a board and...your eye…” Alisae trailed off. Ira looked at them, dazed, yet somehow the definition of her face so much clearer. “My eye…?” Ira groaned in pain, covering their left eye from the light that was too bright. Too bright for an eye that they were blind in.

They closed their right eye. Alisae’s face remained in perfect clarity. “My eye…How is it, how is it, what happened?”

“It’s not just that Ira, your eye isn’t white anymore, it’s... _gold._ ”

Ira knew a man with gold eyes. They had murdered him not eight days ago. After all that pain trying to bring him back, Emet-Selch was not there to taunt the lalafell. Ira felt as though they would start to cry at any moment, but the tears never came. Just a hollow resignment. The truth hurts. And the only thing they had left to prove he existed was a pearl earring, and a gold eye.

Their chest burned with acid across their skin, but it did not compare to the pit in their heart. This was the truth, and the truth was immutable.

“We should go,” Ira finally spoke, shoving the lamp back into their bag. Alisae, without prompting, pulled the lalafell onto her shoulder, feet braced in the crook of her elbow. Ira’s eyes fixed on Ryne’s, the young girl’s face ablaze with a fearful confusion that she would not divulge.

And it was in that silence that the three of them made the long, long journey back to the surface.


	3. Peripheral Shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ira, Alisae and Ryne return to the Crystarium, and Ira starts to feel the effects that trying to mimic Emet-Selch's power has had on them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is more of a chapter...3.0, let's say, but it begun to get very large and unwieldy, so I've published the first half of Chapter 3 now while I work through the rest. As always, thank you everybody who's been on this ride with me, and let the angst trip continue!

The trip through the aetheryte connection was strained, but the amaro from Wright took them back to Fort Jobb in Lakeland comfortably. Ira felt like years had passed but it was just turning into the late hours of the afternoon, and the sun beat down on the ground, dry, bleached grass crackling under their feet on the path to the Crystarium’s gate.

“Thancred will be upset,” Ryne spoke, after hours of pained silence. “What should we say to him?”

Alisae shrugged her free shoulder. “We should tell him we went out to Lakeland to try and help Ira take their mind off things." The lalafell was all but passed out, draped across Alisae’s shoulder, occasionally opening their eyes in anticipation, sighing, and closing them again.

“What of Ira’s eye?” Ryne pressed. She had a point. Ira’s white eye was distinct to the Scions, with the other being a pale red. White to gold was a sudden and obvious change, and if Y’shtola was visiting, there’d be more than just a few white lies to tell.

“An injury. Here, Ira,” Alisae dug in her pocket, pulling out a long strip of cloth and offering it to Ira. “We’ll say you had a tussle with one of your marks, alright?” Ira nodded mutely, taking the cloth and tying it around their head, covering the gold eye and returning their vision on their left to darkness. Bitter, floral darkness.

A taste Ira, but not Ira, remembered clearly.

By the time the three made it to the Crystarium, the sun’s light was dimming; orange, pink and purple hues of the sky deepening. Up the steps from the gate, Urianger, Thancred and Alphinaud were waiting. How long was hard to say, but Thancred looked furious.

“Ryne! Where have you _been?_ ” he demanded. He and Alphinaud competed for the loudest voice amongst them, a flurry of questions, harried admonishments spilling from their mouths.

“And what happened to Ira’s eye?!” Alphinaud finally asked, pointing at the lalafell as they hopped out of Alisae’s hold.

“They wanted to keep me company while I tracked down some targets for the Nutsy folk. I have been distracted, as you know, and my concentration slipped while I was using my aether focus.” Ira’s lies were hard to detect, and the three men appeared convinced by this explanation. “A mild burn, nothing more.” Ira’s voice was hoarse, almost alien to them with the tones it took on.

Urianger’s eyes found the earring still there on Ira’s ear, making pointed eye contact with the Warrior of Light but not saying anything, as this small decoration was missed by Thancred and Alphinaud.

“Ryne, please, if you want to go out please at least tell me. The only reason the whole of the First wasn’t looking for you is because Ira and Alisae were missing as well,” he pleaded, placing a hand on Ryne’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Thancred. I should have told you; I will next time, I promise.” She offered him a soft, sincere smile.

“It doth warm mine heart that thee and thou are safe, but I too must beg that shouldst an excursion be wanted, that thou informeth those who remain behind.” A circuitous route to express the same wish as Thancred, but one that was heeded regardless. He changed his stance and beckoned the whole group follow into the Crystarium further.

“Let us proceed to the Pendants; a hearty meal awaiteth us there, and thine faces show a meal would be appreciated.”

As Alphinaud and Thancred turned to follow with a resigned sigh, Ira’s hand darted to their ear, unclipping the jewellery and slipping it into their pocket. They bit their lip as the fizzing burn drummed away at their senses, woken by the shift of their shirt over their sternum.

“Are you at least feeling somewhat better, Ira?” Alphinaud broke the awkward silence that was filled with unspoked questions. Ultimately, their friend’s state was the one that mattered most.

Ira’s chest heaved with a slow sigh, turning their gaze to Alphinaud with a forced smile.

“A little clearer, a little lighter,” they answered, the lie rolling off their tongue like so many others they’d had to say in the past week.

“What’s this all about, anyway? You’ve not been your usual self.” Thancred took his turn to ask, a little more pointed, lacking Alphinaud’s subtleties. Ryne felt the aether bristle around Ira as they tried to form an answer that wasn’t just _grief._

“It’s been a long few weeks. The weight of everything finally caught up to me.” It was no lie, not by traditional terms. But how could they answer _I’m grieving for Emet-Selch_ to a man who loathed Ascians more than most? They couldn’t blame him for those feelings, having been made the puppet of Lahabrea in a time that felt like eons ago now.

The evening light filled The Pendants with a violet hue, filtered through the blue crystal ceiling of the building. Fires raged, pots of hearty stew in quantities enough to feed the entire population of the Crystarium twice over. The group took seats at a bench, bowls in hand, and sat down to eat without much more of a word. It was clear that Ira was guarding something, keeping it close to their chest but all knew that trying to pry it from them was an exercise in futility.

Ira was exhausted. Darkness tugged at the corners of their vision, and they begin to swear that the shadows themselves were watching. Each one a little deeper and darker than before.

“My apologies. Today has been...very much tiring. I would love to enjoy your company for a while longer, but I fear falling asleep in my food.” Ira stood from the table, taking their bowl back to the canteen. As the lalafell wandered up the steps to their room, Thancred shot a look to Ryne.

“We’ll talk about this in the morning. Ira might lie like a professional, but you have a long way to go to fool me.”

* * *

It felt like all the warmth had been sucked from the room when Ira entered it, the windows wide open to the starry night. The shadows in the room were thick and seemed to linger in their vision in a way they had not prior. Or was it simply a heightened awareness from the return of the vision in their left eye. They pulled the earring from their pocket, slumping in a chair and sighing, turning it in their fingers. The hot-numb tingle on their chest and spine flared into life and with a soft hiss, Ira wandered over to the mirror by the dresser to figure out the source of the pain, to see if something more had happened when they were...so certain they had succeeded in bringing Emet-Selch back.

Ira was, of most things in that moment, taken aback by the bright gold gleam of their eye. It was that same deep honeyed hue of his. Shedding their jacket and shirt, a breath hitched in Ira’s throat, barely contained horror. From their collar to just below their sternum, a pale scar wracked itself across their skin, jagged and gnarled, a burn Ira recognised as one from light. Turning to their side, the same scarring followed on their back. A painful flash of a memory they had tried to block, a tired but peaceful smile.

_Remember us. Remember that we once lived._

His chest a cavity of light, a jagged wound running through his whole torso. Something that would have left a scar just like the one now marring Ira’s body, had it not been a wound that transcended mortal flesh. His eye. His scar. An earring. Gods, what had Ira done? They knew something had been bothering Ryne on the way home; was this what she saw before Ira did themself?

The shadows at the edges of their vision seemed to deepen, as if creeping in around their body, but like a mote inside one’s eye, trying to look directly at the shadows chased them back into the recesses of the room.

Ira wandered to the far edge of the room to gaze out at the sky. The sun’s light cast a rich red-purple over the sky, the clouds a mackerel-stripe coat curling around the night’s freckled stars.

“I’m so sorry, Emet-Selch. You deserved better. Another chance that I couldn’t give you then.” The lalafell clambered up to the windowsill, sitting in the open window and gazing out of the window with a heavy sigh. The shadows creeping around their body receded, leaving them to a wordless vigil.

Ira was barely aware of the time passing, even as they watched the sun crest over Lakeland’s lilac hills, having stayed there, lost in their thoughts through the night. Even through rain and prickling cold winds that made them shiver, Ira still did not move. As if they feared sleep, missing a sign, a sound, anything that could have been Emet-Selch.

Their stomach growled painfully, the pang drowning out the fizzing corrosion on their chest and back, and finally, for the first time in eight hours, moved from the windowsill, pulling the blinds closed with them and picking up the earring from the chair where they had left it, opening the door and heading out of the accommodation, eyes cast down as they marched their way down to The Pendants proper, their clothes damp from rain.

Ira swore they could keep seeing the shadows shift and move at the periphery of their vision, but just as before, any attempt to look directly into them would show them completely normal, ambient shadows. A bowl of hot porridge from the kitchens was enough to distract their thoughts, rapidly being overtaken by hunger. The warmth of the food settled into Ira’s bones, driving away the chill brought on by the rain soaked into their clothes. They finished the meal up quickly and thanked the cook, placing a neat stack of Eorzean gil down on the counter before making their way toward the training yard, hoping as early as it was that the guards were not already out there.

Thankfully one of the targets was still available, and Ira sprinted up to it, after giving a hearty greeting to each of the guards hailing them, unclipping their focus and slipping the rapier from its sheath. Focusing their mind, the focus locked onto the pommel of the rapier, giving it the appearance of a sceptre as they channeled unaspected aether through their body. The formed aether flew free, striking the target harmlessly other than a slight mark, and their arm swung back the other way, a blast of air impacting the target a second later. Red, white, red, black, white, red; Ira started to lose themself in the rhythm of casting until the focus glowed brightly. 

Their feet pushed them from the ground, launching into the target with a vicious flurry of slices and thrusts, growling furiously as they put all their strength into each blow. As the stored aether expended, Ira skipped back, closing their eyes as they drew through the aether of their body, fire crackling like small suns around the target, their fingers gripping the combined rapier and focus tight as their mind channeled **_red._ **

A red mask, a rumbling voice, _his name_ , flashes of a life Ira lived and yet did not.

Ira lost control of the aether, the spell lashing wildly out of control as red smoke and lightning crackles ripped through the earth, backfiring directly towards Ira, had the blow of the spell not been dissipated by a blue glowing barrier, licking against the surface of the dome.

“Pray release thine spell, Master Ira!” Urianger’s voice called over the cacophony. Ira came back from their flashback with a sputtered gasp, severing the link between themself and their focus, the spell crackling into nothingness as they trembled, having never lost control before, not even when their soul was near breaking point from Light. The focus and rapier clattered to the ground, the lalafell panting, locking eyes with Urianger. With both eyes uncovered.

“I do believeth it is time that thee and me engaged in a discussion thou mightst find most severe, Master Ira.” His face furrowed, pointedly keeping his gaze on their gold eye. “Prithee follow me to mine room, where Thancred and Master Alphinaud awaiteth us both.”

“Please, no, not yet,” Ira pleaded, scooping their focus up and sheathing the rapier on their belt. Urianger knelt, offering an arm and shoulder to Ira. They sighed deeply, placing a foot on Urianger’s palm, the other on their elbow, the tall elezen lifting Ira up to his shoulder. “I understand thou wishes to keepeth things close to thine chest, but the state of thine’s mind hath caused grave worry.”

Ira didn’t respond with much more than a low sigh as Urianger carried Ira away from the training ground, back towards The Pendants where the Scions resided. They wished wholeheartedly that Alisae and Ryne had not shared anything. Eyes half-lidded and cast down, they leant their head against Urianger’s.

“I wish I could…” Ira started, gently cut off by Urianger.

“Thou shouldst save thine words for our companions. An intervention was not mine intent but thou hast drove us to this, Master Ira.”


	4. Of Interventions and Familial Bonding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Urianger gathers Ira for an intervention on their strange behaviour and worrying loss of control. A simple homely lunch is shared. Ira helps Alphinaud out with arcanist equations, and Y'shtola arrives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a chunky chapter, but there wasn't a good place to split it without it being a little too disjointed. I wanted to push the parental-like figure of Ira a lot this chapter so who wouldn't want wholesome study time with Alphinaud?
> 
> Not long before the big bomb drop!

At Urianger’s room, Alphinaud paced anxiously and Thancred sat in a chair, one leg crossed over the other, the foot planted on the floor bouncing up and down. When the door opened and Urianger entered, Ira perched atop his shoulder the two stopped dead as their gazes locked on the unblinded gold eye of Ira’s face.

“Ira, what’s been going on?

“What’s the meaning of this? What happened to your eye?”

“We’ve been worried sick, you’ve barely talked, left your room-”

Alphinaud and Thancred fought to have their question be the last asked and thus the first answered, Ira becoming more distressed by the second, until their upper lip tugged once, twice, revealing sharp teeth as they jumped from Urianger’s shoulder to the table, facing the two white-haired men down.

“You want to know what’s been going on?!” Ira shouted, looking between the two now stunned into silence. “I’ve been  _ grieving _ , I’ve been  _ grieving over Emet-Selch _ and I could only do it alone because I knew none of you would understand why!” 

“I killed a good man and then everybody called me a hero for it!”

Alphinaud and Thancred were speechless, but Ira could see that neither of them could understand. “Ira, he...would have caused the deaths of billions. You, me, everybody here,” Alphinaud reasoned.

“Because he was grieving; grieving and tempered and had no other choices left; he was desperate.”

“Be that as it may...your eye. Been doing more than just grieving?” Thancred was always more to the point, less political.

Ira was silent, unable to answer, there was no lie that could adequately explain the changed hue of their eye.

“Mayhap most concerning, the notable lightness of thy shadow, Master Ira.”

Ira looked beneath them, their shadow pale, far paler than that of the other three in the room, then locking eyes with Alphinaud, Thancred and Urianger in turn. They didn’t want to say. They  _ couldn’t _ say. 

“Please don’t ask this of me.”

“Ira, you are our family. We’re worried for you. Have you been keeping this to yourself the whole time?” Alphinaud pleaded, putting a hand on Ira’s upper arm. “N...no. Alisae and Ryne know. They were helping me.” Ira finally began to open up, realising that this truth was going to come out one way or the other. “Pray tell, Master Ira, helping thou in what task?”

“Bringing him back.”

The air ran cold as the three men exchanged looks, Alphinaud speaking up first. “Ira, are you quite mad? You mean to bring back a man who would quite happily sacrifice every life across every shard to bring back a people who’ve been dead and gone for hundreds of thousands of years?”

“Not dead and gone. Just...apart. I love me as I am right now, even though I started...remembering things. Memories that aren’t mine but I know I lived, so long ago. And I feel, maybe, maybe there’d be some reconciliation. Something, anything.”

Ira slumped, sitting on the table. “Not that any of it matters. I couldn’t do it and all I have left of him is an earring and a gold eye.” Behind them, the door opened, Alisae and Ryne peering in. “We’re sorry, Ira, we tried to find you but…”

“It’s okay. I wasn’t going to be able to keep up this pretense for much longer. Thank you for looking out for me.” Their voice had a soft fondness for the two girls. “No lasting damage, anyway,” they tried to lighten the mood with a wry smile. “Master Ira, it behooves me to remindeth thee that thou didst lose thine control over the aether while channeling a scorch spell, didst thou not?”

The lalafell winced. “The effects will wear off, I’m sure. Twas only a day ago and admittedly trying to go through everything while still so worn out…” They continued, reasoning, pleading that they’d find a way out of this.

Alphinaud wrapped his arms around Ira, silent for a while. “I know we don’t understand. But you still don’t have to do this alone.” How many times had Ira heard that, from so many people? To never bear a burden alone. They thought of Emet-Selch, who did exactly that, and how it seemed to pull at his shoulders.

“I’m sorry, Alphinaud. I’m so sorry.” Ira started, squeezing Alphinaud round his shoulders. “I’m sorry to you all. I feared you wouldn’t believe me at best, and at worst…” they trailed off, rubbing their own shoulder as they took a step back.

“You’re our family, Ira. None of us are infallible.” Thancred was unusually unabrasive, but Ira had seen the young man go through so much and grow up so fast, like how many of the Scions had their youth taken from them. Ira’s feet delicately stepped around glasses on the table and leant over to hug Thancred around his neck, not saying any more. He tensed under the touch, guarded and barely swallowing the bristling rage under his skin. In part, he was glad Ira’s attempt had failed. He didn’t know what he would do if his eyes ever locked with Emet-Selch again, and knew whatever action he took would tear a rift between him and Ira.

“In the very least, your dedication to giving the man a second chance will ensure his last wish granted. I think he’d be happy with that,” Ryne said, anxiously pressing lightly curled fingers to her clavicle.

Releasing the hold around Thancred, who had returned the affection with a couple of soft pats to Ira’s back, Ira turned to regard the assembled Scions. “You’re right. I can’t change this, but I can at least do this...and at least have this.” They touched their cheekbone just below their left eye.

“Listen, Ira; Ryne and I are heading out on an excursion for a few days - will you be alright?” Thancred asked. Ira gave something of an impish grin in return. “So long as you bring my kid back in one piece, yeah.”

Thancred sputtered in response, waving Ira off as he stood up. “We’re capable people Ira, but yes, that should be the least of your worries. We’ll be back in two or three days. If I miss Y’shtola, tell her we give our regards.”

Ira swallowed. “S..’Shtola’s coming to visit?” They remembered how clearly they had seen how the Wardens’ light had corrupted them, and in their current state, worried what she would see this time. “Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll be back before then.”

Thancred gave Ira a pat on the shoulder, stepping around the table and heading to the door, gesturing for Ryne to step through, and then disappearing into the hallway afterwards.

The lalafell heaved a heavy sigh, placing their hand in Urianger’s palm as they held it out to them. “Mine apologies, Ira, for forcing thee through a discussion most uncomfortable. In the many years we hath all been fighting for our causes, I findeth myself regarding thee as mine kin; a sibling. And lo, it did paineth me to see thee so lost in thy sorrow. Pray, Ira, do not feareth telling thy family whenst thou art hurting; even for the soul of an Ascian.”

Alphinaud and Alisae laid their hands atop Ira’s, offering smiles. How long ago it had felt, the first time they saw them slumbering on the carriage to Ul’dah. Their lips tugged into an awkward smile that just barely reached their eyes, and perhaps if they’d looked in a mirror in that moment, they felt they would have seen a ghost staring back at them, such that it mimicked the Ascian’s own facial tics.

“Listen, I know Ryne and Thancred sped off but..I was going to make some lunch in my room, and...it would be nice to have some company.” The twins perked up at this and gave an eager nod, Urianger giving his own sound of agreement. “I’ll need a little time to get the ingredients but, let’s say in a couple of bells?” Something to lift their spirits, something easy. The three elezen agreed wholeheartedly, and Ira hopped off the table, disappearing into the hallway.

* * *

Ira zipped between various places at the Crystarium as they gathered ingredients for a simple, but hopefully satisfying lunch. Honey from the apiarists, rough grained bread and pale white butter. All they needed was one little, insignificant thing from the Source to make it  _ perfect _ . Ira didn’t even bother to use the small aetheryte anchors throughout the Crystarium as they skipped back to their residence, nimble feet dancing between people’s legs and springing them over railings as they gave their regards to the Master of Rooms on the way in.

Excitedly putting their items on the large table, Ira stepped back over to the bell by the doorway and cleared their throat. “Feo Ul, I need you.”

Nothing happened. Ira sighed heavily as they formulated an appropriate plea for the King’s attention. “Oh most beautiful of branches, your sapling requires your aid!” they called theatrically into the air. Soon enough, the air shifted, shimmered and Feo Ul’s small proxy appeared before them.

“It pains me how little my darling sapling calls upon their generous branch! How long has it been since you last requested my presence, sapling?” Feo Ul chided Ira, tap-tap-tapping them on their dark-smudged nose. “And look what you’ve gone and done to yourself this time! All tangled up like some ball of yarn!”

Ira tilted their head, squinting lightly. “What do you mean, Feo Ul?” they asked guardedly.

“All this aether, all tangled up with somebody else like some awful spider’s web! Not a wonder in the world my dear sapling couldn’t cast right!” the King continued in their rant, until Ira interrupted them.

“I’m sorry, my beautiful branch. I’m...trying to undo a wrong. Would you be able to get something from the Source for me? I have some preserved truffles that don’t exist here.” They implored, hoping to take the Fae King off their fretting worries. “You’d be welcome to share some of the food I’m about to make with it.” Their lips curled into a smile, having forgotten how much they enjoyed Feo Ul’s company.

“My sweet little sapling is so generous. I don’t quite care for your mortal foods, but your offer delights me.” Feo Ul said with a giggle as they disappeared in a shower of glittering aether, returning moments later with a sealed glass jar. The Fae King smelled, briefly, like Ira’s home, giving them a pang of homesickness. “Thank you my wonderful branch. I promise we’ll talk more often now that things are calm.” Ira gave a smile, tapped on the nose again. “You’d best, adorable sapling!” Feo Ul trilled with a laugh as they disappeared back into the aether. Ira let out the softest of chuckles, and went over to the fireplace, fingers reaching out, settling down the fire to a more suitable temperature.

“Ah, I forgot a pan. Drat.” Ira snapped their fingers at their scattered thoughts, and found their arm suddenly weighted with an iron pan. It had been almost a second nature. A nature that Ira didn’t have. “What have I done..?” Tangled aether, loss of control, shadows they saw nipping at their heels and yet their own all but gone. The eye.  _ The scar. _ Perhaps seeking the counsel of Y’shtola was going to be a bandage that required ripping off. Ira pushed these thoughts forcefully to the back of their mind, locking them away tight.

Ira placed the pan onto the fire with a drop of butter, lowering the wood to a low smolder with a command of aether. At the table, they took the honey and preserved truffles, mixing a few pinches of truffle into the honey. They took a knife and used it to carve hearty slices out of the bread, before placing them in the greased pan, allowing them to toast until the room smelled warm and buttery.

The door creaked open and the trio of elezen stepped in, Alphinaud giving a soft pat to his stomach as it grumbled. “Too deep in study again, Alph?” Ira said with a smile, using a fork to pull the slices of griddled bread onto plates, bounding up to the table to place one in front of each elezen before finally serving their own, snuffing out the fire with a gesture of their hand, sitting at the long table between Alphinaud and Alisae.

“It’s not the most impressive, but, I present, bread, butter and truffle honey!” they declared with a wide smile, offering up the butter and honey to the three before taking their own. As Alphinaud took a bit his face lit up with delight. “Ira, this is remarkable, it tastes so much like-” “-home!” Alisae interrupted, finishing the sentence and pulling Ira into a tight hug. “How did you manage this?” Alphinaud asked, getting a soft laugh in response. “Well, having a contract with the King of the Fae helps for getting my possessions between here and there. Took a lot of begging but...I’m glad you enjoy it.” Ira gave a comforting squeeze to Alphinaud’s hand, all the lalafell could manage as Alisae hugged them tight.

It was a remarkably, blissfully normal lunch, with Alphinaud piling generous heaps of honey onto the toasted bread while Urianger opted for more modest servings. Ira’s offers of food were always excitedly accepted; growing up in the Culinarian’s Guild base imparted a level of innate food creativity to them. Once all the bread was gone, and the honey but a few dribbles in a bowl that Alisae picked at with a finger, there was a contented silence.

“Thank you, Ira; tis good to be reminded of home like this.” Alisae broke the silence with a contented noise. Home, The Source. Eorzea. Ira hurt for the twins, able to return to the Source at their leisure. Able to return home. Home. Amaurot.

The lock in their mind creaked and strained, and relented when Ira took a slow breath, pushing those thoughts back once more.

“I should do this more often, now that everything is calmer for a while.” Ira mused, collecting plates and dirtied dishes, stacking them at the end of the table so that when the Pendants room attendants arrived, there would be minimal work. The three elezen rose from the table, Alphinaud being the first to speak. “Urianger, what time can we expect Y’shtola to be arriving?”

Urianger rubbed his chin in thought. “If I may alloweth for delay, mine prediction is that our dear friend shalt arrive late this evening. If I may offer, perhaps a light sup together afore bed to welcometh her visit.”

There was a worry that nobody dared address, because all four knew how those events were going to unfold. The only question remaining was what the results of Ira’s foolishness truly were.

“The last week has been so long that it feels like months since I last saw ‘Shtola.” Ira said with a pleased, almost excited tone. They had to move on, regardless of what they had done, and swallowed their sorrow, their grief and worry. The twins deserved to have Ira back. Ryne deserved to have Ira back.  _ Their family _ deserved to have Ira back.

“We’ll gather at the plaza at sundown. Will you be alright, Ira?” Alisae asked, putting a hand on the lalafell’s shoulder, getting a firm nod in response. “Of course. I might head by the Cabinet, do a little light reading.”

“If it’s alright with you, I’d quite like to join you on that. There’s a particular strangeness to summoning here, and I’m wondering if something in my equations might need to be adjusted.” Alphinaud perked up at the mention of some light reading, having in his past enjoyed the company of another arcanist, when Ira still followed that path. Aspects of it lingered in how Ira fought, echoes of primals channeled into their casts.

“I’d like that. I’ll see you two at the plaza?” Ira asked, casting their gaze to Urianger and Alisae who nodded eagerly, heading out the door. Ira and Alphinaud were last out and as the door shut behind them Ira idly snapped their fingers, the sound of the bolt closing behind them. Alphinaud’s gaze lingered, watching how shadows shifted oddly around Ira, but unable to see further beyond the physical. He ambled slightly behind Ira, idle chatter about the specifics of aether on the First following them the whole way to the Cabinet of Curiosities.

Alphinaud already knew what books he wanted when he arrived and set about pulling ones off the shelves, arms heaving with books as he brought them to a table. Ira, however, idly circled the book cases, seeking something specific, but not able to express the specifics of it. After ascending and descending the stairs several times, their eyes found a lone book, black with gold geometric trim on its spine, a script they didn’t know but recognised. It was fragile, and as they pulled it off the shelf, pieces of it flaked off in ash, the corners of the book burned and the pages fragile from age. They opened it with the lightest touch of a claw from their gauntlet, the pages opening easily for its age.

The writing was so familiar, yet Ira could not read it. Something somewhere, deep inside the gutters of their soul could though, their mouth softly, breathlessly speaking the words that they did not understand, but could read. Sparks of aether crackled in their vision, shadows shrouding their body as they continued to whisper the broken, near-lost words. They heard him, they heard his voice distantly in their ears, but they couldn’t understand what was being said, their aether reaching out wildly to grab the source of Emet-Selch’s voice, making only the briefest contact that made their mind explode into a sea of stars. Ira’s body collapsed, hitting the ground with a heavy thud. Alphinaud’s voice called distantly, vaguely aware that they were being shaken. Their eyes opened, yes, he was there. He was so worried. They didn’t want to worry him. Their mouth opened to speak and the meaning was right but the language was wrong.

**< <I’m okay, Alphinaud.>>** Ira spoke softly, holding onto one of Alphinaud’s arms as their senses returned to their body, shaking their head as the sparks of aether left their vision. His brow furrowed. “What have you done?”

“Did I say something wrong?” Yes, this was Ira’s voice. This was them. Alphinaud breathed a sigh of relief, helping pull the lalafell back to their feet. “You were reading and fell, and when you spoke it was-” Alphinaud paused. “It sounded like the spectres of Amaurot.” Ira’s eyes looked askance at the book. “I think it was. I think the book...I think it’s from Amaurot.” Ira let a laugh come to their lips. “From what I experienced, I think it was likely something dry, like the correct way to file a design with the appropriate authorities.”

Alphinaud’s face softened with an amused sound, an agreement. “Ira, if it wouldn’t be a strain, I’d love if you could go over some equations with me, I believe I’ve found the source of why my summons aren’t as stable as they have been before.” He gave them something to hold onto. It seemed every time thoughts of Amaurot became too strong, grief for Emet-Selch too severe, the effect of what Ira had done begun to wound them.

Ira was happy to oblige, and the two settled at a table, the lalafell softly scratching out inaccuracies in Alphinaud’s equations, suggesting different routes around until the two settled on a satisfactory formula. Excitedly taking the papers the two had been working on, they ran out to the plaza to try the new hypothesis. With a moment of concentration, Alphinaud’s hand reached out, and the aether rippled, a solid, gleaming obsidian carbuncle stepping out of the rift. Ira made a gleeful sound and knelt over to beckon it, rubbing its cheeks and patting its ears. It was so much more solid than Alphinaud’s prior summons on the First, without that strange instability in its form that occasionally tipped off Ira that there was a flaw in the formula.

“This is great work, Alph. You should be proud of yourself,” Ira said, hefting up the carbuncle that was practically their own size. Alphinaud smiled, a little tooth to it as the smile pushed up to his eyes. “Thank you. I think this will help a lot.”

Alisae’s voice called out to the two, Urianger in close tow, as by cue the bells tolled, the four of them gathered in the plaza, awaiting Y’shtola’s arrival. Ira and Alphinaud excitedly explained their afternoon of formulae and equations, Alisae laughing, having forgotten just how skilled an arcanist Ira had been before they found the physicality of the path of red suiting them far better.

“Well good evening! Full glad am I to see you all in such high spirits. I hope nobody has been awaiting me too long,” Y’shtola’s voice called from the aetheryte as she wandered over, smiling at the group before her gaze wandered to Ira, her brow furrowing. “Are you feeling alright, Ira?” The lalafell sighed heavily, giving a half-smile. “We figured you’d notice. I’ll share what I know...and you share what you see?” Ira offered, gesturing with an open palm held upwards.


	5. The Heart's Anchor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y'shtola delivers a truth, and Ira dreams.

Y’shtola’s hand laid gently on Ira’s palm, the mi’qote’s face a picture of grave worry. “What did you do, Ira?” Ira’s eyes glanced aside. “I wanted to give a good person a second chance,” was their opener, as they reeled off the story, the feelings, the  _ grief _ that had been slowly rotting their mind. They recounted their first attempts at creation magic, tapping into the lifestream, and eventually travelling back to Amaurot to pull him back together. The eye. The shadows. Their shadow. Ira paused. The scar. “I think it best we retire to somewhere more private. I haven’t been...entirely bare with the consequences of my actions.”

The Scions walked in silence, fixated on how pale Ira’s shadow was, and how the surrounding ones swirled and almost tried to fill it in. One of the gardens off to a ledge, almost entirely unattended at this hour, the group congregated.

“It was folly to do as I did. I thought with what I knew and…” Ira gestured vaguely. “I stood a chance at pulling him back out the way he did for you, ‘Shtola.”

Ira unbuttoned the first few buttons of their shirt, revealing the pale aether-scarring on their chest. Eyes widened and the group was sent into horrified silence. “All the way through to my back. Just like…” Ira took a shaking breath, rubbing tears from their eyes with the heel of their palm.

Y’shtola’s face softened with a disquieted sound, a shared pain for Ira. “Ira, do you know what you’ve done? Your aether; your soul, it’s all mingled. Tangled with  _ his _ . He’s anchored to you. By the moment I see that presence more and more; your soul has become a beacon and he is following it.”

Ira squinted at Y’shtola, not wanting to speak the words they wanted for fear of either being given hope or having it shattered entirely. “What Y’shtola meaneth in her words is that thou, Master Ira, hath succeeded in thine attempt. Emet-Selch returneth from the lifestream.”

The lalafell’s eyes felt like pinpricks, the world distant and hazy, stepping back in denial. “No, I...I failed. This is why this - why I caused this damage.” They turned on their heels, seeking a shadow, one out of place, one deeper, darker than the others but finding none. “Please don’t give me hope.”

“T’would be far from me to purposefully hurt you like this, Ira. Be that as it may, being a beacon tapped directly into the Flow, has put a great strain on you, much like the Wardens light did.” Y’shtola tried to touch Ira but they backed away, their breath shaking and rapid, fingers running across the top of the scar. Their scar.  _ His scar.  _ **_His scar._ **   


They tried to lock onto an aetheryte. Far, near, it didn’t matter but Ira needed space. In the dizziness, nothing stood out, all anchors becoming faint but the one lodged firmly through their chest. Ira’s soul reached out to touch it, a soft murmur of his voice, dull to them, tickled their ears. The voice they heard distantly at the back of their mind. When they read the Amaurotine book. Barely there, weak and reluctant.

“Ryne knew, didn’t she?” They finally asked, looking over at Alisae. She gave a slow nod, her gaze aside. “She wasn’t sure what had happened. She just saw, instead of your aether in your eye, Emet-Selch’s, and your heart as an anchor.”

Ira remembered the first night after they came back from Amaurot. How their mouth had tasted sweet, bitter, floral. How the shadows around them crept in so tightly. Was it him, watching? Watching like he always did.

Ira looked at their hands, still sore, blisters healing. Their chest, skin gnarled with the marble-like scarring of light. They had brought him back, but he would not deign to meet them. It was perfectly expectable for Emet-Selch. How could the person who had slain him expect anything else? “I did it…” they whispered softly. Ira had felt defeat. It looked like falling shards of ice. The sound of a shattered shield. It tasted like the tang of ozone.

As the Warrior of Light, and now the Warrior of Darkness, they knew they were what hope looked like, what it sounded like, and for those who had enjoyed their cooking, what it tasted like.

To Ira, hope was this. The feeling of a second chance. The feel of four Scions holding them tight. The stars in the night sky. The faint smell of wildflowers. The sound of calm breaths. To Ira, hope was this exact moment, preserved in their mind, crystalised like aether on a mountain.

Days of numbness. Days of disassociation. Days of agony. In this moment, Ira was calm, loved, and full of hope. The Scions didn’t fully understand, but they trusted Ira. Now they just had to show Emet-Selch why they had brought him back.

The five of them stayed like that for a while until Ira’s breathing calmed and Y’shtola saw their aether go slack, no longer ready to lash out or jump to the nearest aetheryte. Releasing the embrace, the group stood up again, Y’shtola being the first to speak. “Now, if my missive was not incorrect, I was informed that we would be having a meal together?” Urianger nodded a few times. “One would be quite correct. But mayhap first we stop on the way to whet our appetites?” Urianger had a peculiar smile to his face as he began to lead the group toward the south side of the Crystarium. “Urianger, are you suggesting...alcohol?” Y’shtola trilled.

“Wait!” Ira called suddenly. The four Scions turned, worried. The lalafell lifted their arms up, flexing their fingers. Y’shtola tittered a laugh as Alphinaud scooped Ira up onto his shoulder. This was more like it. This was closer to normal. As the group made their way to bar just outside The Pendants, Urianger and Y’shtola made idle chat, while listening to Ira ask Alisae about her day, praising the elezen.

A breath of normalcy settled around the group as they drank, wines for Y’shtola and Urianger, mead for the twins, and Ira with  _ “The strongest thing they have. Give it to me. I can take it.” _ Ira had no idea what it was but the lalafell was stomaching it perfectly fine. Y’shtola shared news from Rak’tika, at the newly forged relationship between the Night’s Blessed and the Vii of Fanow, and how they had begun to share history and culture, their connections made all the richer for it. Urianger shared tales from Il Mheg, of his continuing ways of pranking pixies into doing the things he needed around the house. He had recently lead them to believe that he hated the pathway in front of his house being cleaned. Ira, Alisae, Alphinaud and Y’shtola erupted into laughter, drawing a rare smile from Urianger.

Ira settled into their drink, listening to the group talk amongst themselves contentedly.  _ We’re mortal but we have joys. Sorrows. I wanted to see if, somehow, with more time, something could be made to work. _ Ira’s thoughts hummed to themselves, their aether reaching to centre on the tether in their chest, touching it carefully, a delicate connection as they tried to follow its winding trail. It coiled around Ira’s body posessively, snaking between the Scions, a feeling of  _ scrutiny _ on Ira’s tongue, tannins and tartness. It was faint, almost as if there wasn’t anybody there, but a vague murmur told Ira otherwise. Even as the group rose, the flush of alcohol ruddying Ira’s cheeks, they continued to idly follow the connection, finding it in the shadows nipping at their heels. Inexperienced, Ira couldn’t test that connection for long before exhaustion dragged at their aether, drawing back to themself, returning more presently to the conversation as they settled at table in The Pendants, bowls of mixed grains and sliced grilled meat topped with sweet-savoury sauce in front of them. Ira had never tasted food so good. So relieving. Satisfying. Even as they shoveled into their mouth they still engaged in conversation and it felt real and alive. Enough that the pain in their chest was all but the faintest tingle by the time they had finished, Ira standing on the seat to hug each in turn.

A contented buzz swirled around Ira’s head as they unlocked their room, stepping in and enjoying the cool air from the window, stumbling, changing their clothes to bedclothes before collapsing in the plush, soft, cozy bed.

“I was somebody you loved, wasn’t I?” Ira called out into the room, half-lidded eyes staring at the ceiling. “I remember...flowers. A hilltop? These trees with ruffled pink flowers. Just a bit of white on them. I remember fruits that looked like strange berries, and inside; jewels.”

Ira rambled softly for a while, taking a few breaths as they tried that tether again, undistracted, sinking against it. They heard his voice, softly, as if talking to himself, and touched lightly, wound tight, a spring about to snap, a dam about to burst.  _ Emet-Selch. _

The murmuring stopped, a tense silence falling into the aetheric connection. Ira’s touch stayed, cool and subdued from tiredness and alcohol. Even as slumber took Ira away, they remained in spirit nestled up to that presence, the weight of one soul leaned up against another.

At some point in the night, when Ira was far away in dreams of a glittering city, the presence they had become so strongly bound to, reached back. The dreams bloomed vividly, the tangible sensation of a held hand walking through fields of wildflowers, vibrant and fragrant. The presence by their side hummed a soft tune, and Ira’s gaze lifted to look upon their companion, the top half of his face shrouded by a mask, but a distinctly red one, with eyes that smiled. The name bubbled up in Ira’s throat, but a soft finger to their lips hushed them, replaced by the warm touch of his own. It felt so familiar. Not a memory, not a dream, but a recreation. Alive and breathing and yet evanescent all the same.

Together the couple wandered the peaceful streets of Amaurot, not speaking a word yet somehow communicating their feelings perfectly. Lily-leaf streetlights cast a calming glow, and geometric gold filigree in the pavement gleamed in the incandescence. Buildings so high that the sun itself seemed to barely reach the ground, crepuscular rays creeping down through the sprawling metropolis. They marveled at elaborate buildings, drawing wry, shy smiles from their companion, while Ira laughed and showed off in the form of revealing bright, multicoloured songbirds from between their hands, drawing sputters from their companion, an embarrassed chiding. This was just like them, Ira felt. Disregard for how they should act or look, as they found their mask pushed back on by him as they tried to lift it to see what their face looked like in the reflection of a luminescent pond. He wasn’t angry though, resting his forehead against theirs with a soft, tired breath.

The casual way souls would touch and bump up against each other in the dense streets of Amaurot was strange to Ira and yet felt natural. A pliant barrier to each other making a low background static that Ira should have found infuriating but instead enjoyed the feeling of closeness. For while everybody dressed the same, each soul had a different colour, a different texture and smell. They tried to examine their own but found it quite impossible, making their companion laugh. Swirled with red berries, glitters of purple and gold in an endless nebula, his presence leaned into Ira like a heavy blanket. It drew looks, pinprick tingles of intrigue that two walked together so closely, but no scrutiny, mere interest.

In the shade of a tree, Ira pushed their hood back and removed their mask, setting it to the side to let cool air wash over their face and through their hair, sighing contentedly. The mask was simple and like so many other Amaurotines, faintly avian in how the nose drew into a beak. They touched their face and found it unfamiliar, but they did not care because everything else felt so  _ right _ . They were  _ home. _ With the sound of his voice, singing low, relaxed tones in a language Ira could not remember, they rested their head on his chest, allowing his fingers to slide through their hair.

For however long it would have lasted, Ira allowed it, following their companion, souls pressed together, just barely stopped from mingling, until the sound of birdsong pulled them from slumber, eyes cracking open, damp with tears.

Ira looked around the room, drying their eyes on the sleeve of their nightshirt. “Emet-Selch…?”

The shadows did not answer.

Gently touching their chest, the pain of the scar was dull, and the weight of the anchor less crushing, as if the strain on their aether had alleviated, if only a little.


	6. A Tangled Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tangled web that has been made of Ira's soul reveals itself in multiple ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think we're starting getting into the closing segments here before it turns into more...one-shot, slice of life stories. The fixit fic is about to have its fix.

The day was calm, the air with the lightest of breezes touching the ground from clouds high in the air. Ira felt as light as those clouds as they washed, dried and dressed. A bag over their shoulder and their armaments firmly clipped to their sides, Ira headed out into the Crystarium, and toward the Rookery before they were stopped by a melodious voice. “My good friend, how are you! It has been hard to find you as of late.” 

The Exarch; in Ira’s grief it had been hard to keep track of everybody, even the man who dragged them across stars to be on the First. “Exarch! My apologies for being so scarce, I’ve had a lot on my mind. I think I’m working through it though.”

The Exarch’s ears tilted and twitched, before he crouched to regard the lalafell. “Well, I’m sure that you’ve heard it plenty but a burden shared is far easier. I was hoping, maybe you’d join me for some breakfast out on the lawns?” He patted a picnic basket under his arm. Just like the Ascian, he liked to watch, he would have known. Ira let out a breath. He probably knew some of what was happening. “Good thing you stopped me; I was about to go out on some errands for folks around the Crystarium on an empty stomach!” Ira gave their trademark impish grin, and walked alongside the Exarch toward the lawns at the front, overlooking Lakeland and spotted with vegetable patches.

“How have your adventures fared? I would much like to hear of them. Would that I could go with you; the incidents at Amaur-” He saw Ira’s face, and sighed, laying out a blanket and setting down, patting an empty space and offering a small sandwich to Ira. “No good in dancing around it, is there?”

Ira thoughtfully bit into the sandwich, and began recounting for the Exarch. The feelings, the memories, the scar and eye. Ira waited to hear the same thing she had heard from Alisae, Urianger, Alphinaud, everybody, but it never came, the Exarch rubbing his chin thoughtfully, ears tipped down. “You know I can’t condone this action, but powerless am I to stop it. All there is to do now is wait and hope that you’re right.”

Ira smiled, laying a hand on the Exarch’s arm. “Thank you for your honesty, G’raha.” They leaned in, giving the Exarch a soft kiss on the cheek, making him blush a furious hue and drawing Ira’s smile into a toothy grin. He saw something of Ira in Emet-Selch when he had arrived at the First; his theatrical and trickster-like attitude, the way his shoulders pulled toward the floor the same way he’d seen Ira’s when they were alone. Time had worn furrows into Ira since he went to slumber in the tower, and how they’d been torn deep into Ira’s mind since defeating Emet-Selch.

“Did I tell you about the time I tried to kiss a dragon?” Ira’s sudden outburst took them out of their thoughts, ears perked straight up. “I’m sorry, can you say that again?” Ira burst out laughing, tilting back until they sprawled on their back, taking a bite of sandwich. “I knew a dragon in Dravania called Vidofnir, and she was so kind, and generous, and had so much understanding when I was trying to help stop the war. One day I tried to show her how mortals showed deep affection and, she knew what a kiss was but when I gave her a peck on the snoot she acted like she’d been stung.”

The Exarch laughed, he laughed heartily. Perhaps not much had changed in the adventurer he looked up to so wholly. “She was fine, I just don’t think she knew what to expect entirely! We’re still good friends!” Ira reassured them. Not a diplomat by any means and certainly not a creature of decorum, Ira seemed to win people on that caring, jester-like nature.

The two of them stayed like that, exchanging stories, Ira’s errands largely forgotten until the noon sun drove them into the shade. Ira gave a reassuring squeeze to the Exarch’s hand as they adjusted their bag, taking a few steps back to put their fingers to their lips and whistle sharply, the aether distorting around them until the figure of Midgardsormr’s body shaded Ira’s. Merely a proxy of aether now, the father of dragons having withdrawn from the mortal world to sleep, leaving traces of him behind to keep the Warrior of Light company. Ira gave a wide grin to the astounded Exarch and clambered on the dragon’s back, taking off into the sky a few moments later with a wave.

* * *

There were few things Ira enjoyed more than seeing the world from above, wind whipping through their hair and blowing their clothes tight onto their body. The trees of Rak’tika sprawled beneath them, yellow-green leaves of swamp and forest trees occasionally giving way to look at the forest floor below, twisted branches and roots snaking across the ground and coiling around boulders and buildings.

While they missed the strange, arcane conversations with Midgardsormr they appreciated this fragment of his being left behind. Fully was it Ira’s intent to spend their afternoon fishing to help resupply the Crystarium, until the faint call of distress reached their ears. Hooking one foot under the dragon’s harness, they leaned across to peer at the ground below, seeing a group of Night’s Blessed fighting with an exceptionally large and overgrown plant. A wildly overgrown and animate variety of nightshade, it thrashed and writhed as fire and arrows clung to its hide. Ira patted the dragon’s side, descending rapidly through the trees until the lalafell was able to jump freely from its back, bright blue summoned swords hailing down as Ira landed with a heavy thud. Above, Midgardsormr’s echo dissolved into the aether once again.

Ira unclipped their focus and unsheathed their rapier, which glowed orange-red along the centre of its blade, catching the focus on the pommel and channeling aspected aether in sequence, keeping a balance. The overgrown hedge turned to Ira and swung, but the lalafell had already sprung backwards, pelting it with lightning and fire that hissed and crackled on the verdant leaves of its body. The earth itself rose to pierce through the roots, holding it in place as Ira shouted for the Night’s Blessed to scatter. Ira plunged the rapier into the ground, summoning an array of duplicates that punctured and pierced through lush greenery. They pulled the rapier back out, swinging it as deep blue-black electricity struck once more, the focus glowing red, bright swirls of aether evaporating off its surface. Dodging again, Ira lunged in via a tether of aether, but the wild thrashing clipped them, sending them flying with a yelp.

Pain seared across from their scar to their ribs. Not cracked but bruised. They’d felt worse, healed from worse. Vision swimming they pulled themselves back to their feet, the shambling, burnt and pierced roots heading for them, a fruit-bearing limb raised high to slam down, Ira stood and prepared to heal straight through, repairing bones as fast as they broke. They closed their eyes, breathed in

The strike never came, instead a heavy thud on a thick metal, the limb held up by a shield, and struck by a short but wide sword. Ira blinked a few times, their eyes focusing on a figure in black armour that seemed organic in decoration, trimmed with gold. The hedgebeast reeled back, and the swordsperson advanced, viciously striking with sword and shield until ground had been gained. Then, they held their sword back, pointed it toward the ground and tapped the tip twice. Ira’s eyes followed it, seeing the ramp created by the line of the warrior’s body. Sprinting at full pelt, they ran up the length of the sword, arm and shoulder, launching themself off via the same tether and laying into the animated greenery with three swift strikes of their sword, a pillar of light in Ira’s wake. On the ground, Ira turned, catching the focus on the rapier’s hilt and channeling **_red._ **

_A tired smile._

The spell crackled unstably, red sparks striking the ground around the shrubbery as it begun to collapse.

_A wound of light._

Ira’s teeth gritted, pulling their focus back into the now. Red. _Red._ **_Red._ **

The spell surged and bloomed into life, the signature in-between magic of red mages piercing through the beast’s body, even though it had collapsed long before. Ira craved the rush when their body became a conduit for that much aether, even when their actions could be easily defined as _overkill_ in the most literal sense from time to time. It was why they had become revered on the Source. _Feared_ on the Source. They took heavy breaths, looking for the swordsman who had saved them, but finding nary a sign. The Night’s Blessed had long scattered, leaving them alone in the woods. Taking a step Ira winced at the pain in their ribs, placing a hand to them and drawing through the earth to heal the damage. The ache lingered but the source was gone.

A tired whistle summoned Midgardsormr’s proxy from the aether, Ira slumping onto its saddle exhaustedly. Ira had taken the utmost care to not tap carelessly into their own aether like they had done in the past, but it still drained them as if they had done. The weight of carrying an anchor as they did filed away at their aether, and using their body as a conduit only exacerbated the issue. It was nothing Ira couldn’t recover from, provided they didn’t have to fight any world-ending threats before the Ascian deigned to return fully.

Flying low to the forest floor, the dragon they slumped across ducked and weaved between trees, before finally landing on a thick, winding root suspended above water. The weight of it caused the root to wobble slightly as it took off and dissipated once Ira’s feet were off its back, and the lalafell slumped down, pulling a small, compact rod and a small tin of bait from their bag, piercing a small piece on the hook before casting the line, sitting quietly above the lake.

“I’m sure you find our lives quite wasteful. All the time we spend fishing, farming, baking in a timespan that’s probably the blink of an eye to you.” Ira softly spoke to the shadows. “I’m older than the average adventurer so of all people I should feel this more acutely, but I just don’t care.”

Their eyes lidded slightly as tired aether reached out onto the anchor, treading along it, seeking that mumbled voice, but finding it quiet, or far away. The faintest brush of a berry-gold soul against theirs, a breathed sigh of relief. “You’re still there.”

They stayed like that for the afternoon, quietly talking to the air, reeling in fish after fish as their body drew aether back from the land, filling their veins with life once more. When the sun’s light had all but disappeared from the wood, and Ira’s pack was full of fresh fish,they folded up the rod and slipped it into their bag, picking up the pack of fish and slinging it over their back, wandering along the root back to the shore of the lake as fog settled across its surface, illuminated by the blooms of lily flowers across the surface, Ira’s legs springing them from floating leaf to floating leaf, and then another rough, bark-coated root. The stars were just visible through the forest’s canopy, lighting the sky up with pale freckles in its endlessly blue-hued depths.

Ira was taken out of their reverie by the snap of twigs, unclipping their focus on instinct, bright blue swords materialising in a semihalo around their body, trembling like a bow string pulled tight in anticipation, the glow illuminating the trees around them. “Who goes there!” Their teeth bared, letting out a low growl as their focus started to crackle with lightning. One handed-casting was still enough to deter most creatures of the forest.

But nothing came. Ira let out a held breath, the echoes of rapiers disappearing in a precipitation of shimmering blue aether, making their vision swim.

The pinched the bridge of their nose with their free hand, clipping the aether focus back to their belt soon after, and reached their own aether out, doing their best to ignore the anchor and touch between the delicate threads linking them to the various aetherytes around Norvrandt. Slitherbough, Mord Souq, Wright, Amaurot.

_Amaurot._

Ira snapped their attention back forcibly, finally finding the Crystarium’s thread and latching onto it, a breeze blowing through the trees, their soul pulled across its delicate path, and their body soon after. In the space between, the pain of the anchor, the acid sensation running through their body was not there but they felt the weight of the anchor so acutely in the seconds they spent wending their way to the Crystarium, almost able to see and hear around them on the pathway. Emerging from the other side, aether frazzled, reaching out to touch against the other souls around them and finding them so dull and quiet, unaware of the aether skimming across the surface. Soon they found their frantic reaching dulled by a blanket of berry-gold-swirled aether, pulling Ira’s presence back to themself and calming the lalafell down enough to take a few breaths.

_Emet-Selch?_

There was no answer, but the presence calmed Ira enough to make their way to The Pendants, offering the huge sack of fresh fish to the kitchen, which was gladly accepted. It was only right, even as the Warrior of Darkness, to pay their due, just as everybody else. It filled their soul with a sense of normalcy they didn’t get to feel very often; not since they were first approached by the Scions of the Seventh Dawn.

The very woman who first approached Ira was there, out on the lawns as they sat to breathe in the cool night are, the mi’qote almost seeming like she had been waiting, regarding Ira with a most intrigued gaze. “Keeping yourself together, my friend?” She asked guardedly. Ira’s face tugged into a half-smile. “Never better. Just a little ragged round the edges.”

Y’shtola gave a simple nod, not pressing the lalafell any further. What would there have been to say, to ask? The facts were there, now there was just waiting to see if the Ascian would continue to pull at Ira’s aether like an anvil, or if he would accept the beacon as it was held out to him.

Awkward silence settled on the two until Ira shuffled up to Y’shtola’s side, leaning on her shoulder. “How long has it been?” they asked softly, gazing up at the stars with her. “By my counts, about seven or eight. By yours, perhaps three, since first we met in Limsa Lominsa.”

Ira made a soft sound, relaxing. “Feels like a lifetime. I think this is the most time I’ve had to stop and think since the end of the Dragonsong War. Given my predilection for rash behaviour perhaps that’s been for the best.”

She laughed warmly, ears perked up. “I don’t know; I think you find yourself quite prone to getting into all kinds of trouble; busy or not. Alphinaud once told me of the time you showed Vidofnir what a kiss was.”

Ira tried to stifle their laugh, closing their eyes with the force of the fanged grin on her face. “I was just telling that story to the Exarch today. You know how he likes to hear my stories since he…” Ira trailed off, sad that they were not able to have more adventures with the Exarch, when he was simply G’raha. 

“I miss it, sometimes. I miss...practicing my summoning geometries, making trouble at the culinarian’s guild. I miss fishing by the docks. The more I fight the more I feel this, this…”

Ira paused, trying to find the right words. “Something strange and feral that as much as I fight I find myself _reveling_ in.”

Y’shtola’s brow furrowed, rubbing her chin. “Never have I heard such a thing. Think it the malingering effect of your absorbing the Wardens’ light?” Ira shook their head slowly. “No, this has been going on for some time. I first felt it when we were living in Ishgard. That feeling, that sensation of…” Ira trailed off, looking at their hands. Yet, Y’shtola saw the unquantifiable thing Ira struggled to explain. In that moment where they began to _feel_ that sensation, their aether wildly lashing like a ghostly, monstrous presence around their body...and then slackened off, curling back beneath the surface of their skin.

She’d seen it, something similar to it, when Emet-Selch lost himself to his, what Y’shtola would have called rage, but understood Ira saw as sorrow. She opened her mouth to find words to say, but found herself at a loss. “I know when summoners find themselves with that aetherial fire in their veins, they can tap into it. I believe you knew such a thing when this was your vocation, did you not?”

Ira traced their fingers across their throat, down to just above the scarring on their chest. The first time they had felt the blinding hot fire of the Dreadwyrm on their tongue, begging to be let out; so they did. Things often became a blur when they found themself in that trance, but they remembered the _thrill_ of it. Maybe Y’shtola was right and it was time to listen to that instinct again.

Y’shtola was up on her feet, offering Ira a hand up as well, and a lift to her shoulder that was softly declined. “I’ll walk with you.”

It was a silent walk, a wordless amble of Ira and Y’shtola’s souls curiously reaching out. Fear, comfort, concern, love, _peace_. Y’shtola a calm breeze and Ira, a barely contained supernova, void and fire just beneath a fragile shell.

Before Ira could open the door to their room, Y’shtola called after them. “Ira. While we all have our misgivings about what you have done…I truly believe if anybody could bring to fore what you saw in Emet-Selch, it is you.” Ira nodded a few times, fingers on the door handle. “I will prove it. I promise.” Ira opened the door, gave a long look to her, and disappeared inside.

Inside the room Ira was able to relax, taking cool breaths as their fingers gestured to the window, a breeze pushing the shutters open.

“Emet-Selch?”

The shadows did not answer.

“Emet-Selch, I know you’re there.”

Silence laid thickly upon the room like a fog.

Frustrated, Ira tapped into the anchor, following out, around the room, into every shadow until they felt the surface of berries, gold and stardust. Begged, pleading, infuriating they forced their presence until the other yielded.

A sun plunged into the endless abyss of space, where its light and warmth was welcomed, for it was only the right place for a sun to be.

Ira’s body collapsed onto the floor with a thud, comatose and like a doll as its soul drifted with another, engulfed in dreams, living memories of Amaurot. A pair of hands lifted the lalafell, carrying them to their bed, a silent vigil until they returned from the gleaming city.


	7. A Hero Dreams of You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! The last chapter of Out of Tartarus before I roll this series into one-shot prompts and other miscellaneous stories between Emet-Selch and Ira. I may go back and add an Epilogue to this if I feel like it's demanded, but otherwise, please enjoy your fix of the fixit fiction.
> 
> Twelve willing the situation fixes itself and this fic becomes completely noncanonical.

The lights of the city stretched further than Ira’s gaze could perceive, even from this perch high up in the city, a penthouse apartment that looked out on Amaurot from high above, spires the only thing that crowned their position in height. Ira caught their reflection in the glass and slowly removed their mask and hood, gazing on their face. Things were so different, they almost appeared hyur-like, but the one thing that caught Ira’s gaze was their own eyes. The same red they recognised as distinctly their own.

“Really can’t stand wearing those things can you, my dear?”

Ira’s blood ran cold. His voice. _His voice._ **_His voice._ ** They turned to regard the source of it, eyes meeting a face still masked, still hooded, but from the voice and colour of his soul alone was undeniably _him._

“Em..Emet-” They were hushed by a finger on their lips, just as before. “Lost in your daydreams again? I’m sorry for startling you. Must have been quite the dream for you to call me by title, dear monster.”

It was a strange turn of affection but one that settled Ira, as they leaned into their companion, lazily wrapping their arms around him, cheek rubbing against soft communal robes. “Hades,” was how they started, and seemingly finished a thought, content as his hands squeezed around their shoulders. “I was daydreaming about…”

Where to start? Well, how about the middle. Ira recounted to Hades their daydream; a hero in a world not unlike theirs, but simple and primitive, where people had so little aether they couldn’t even create a single needle. They told him their dreams of meteors and primals, of people transforming into gods, journeying to cities across bridges malms long, of dragons that they met, dragons that they fought. A war between a nation built on technology and their own, travelling far from their home to meet people who lived in valleys, lived on plains, lived beneath the waves.

“A hero, you say? Well, that’s certainly something I wouldn’t have guessed being your vocation, my dear,” Hades lilted.

Ira laughed, shrugging lazily. “No, but you know I love to dream. And in those dreams, a hero dreams about…” they trailed off, pushing Hades’ hood back, fingers delicately hooking underneath his mask to lift it from his face, making him let out a nervous sound, fearful that _this_ dream would be broken, waiting for the incandescent bliss of it to shatter.

But it didn’t. Instead, Ira smiled up at him, just a few ilms shorter than him, but enough that he would tease them about it. Gold eyes, auburn hair flecked with white, a shy half-smile tugging at his lips.

“A hero dreams about you.”

Arms slung lazily around Hades’ neck, they pressed their lips to his, a reluctant return until his hand cradled their jaw, a thumb brushing across their cheek.

It was a few moments before the two broke contact, though their souls lazily tangled and leaned up against each other, bright blue tipped in gold, and berry black, swirled with gold. Ira tapped their chin, a curled, amused smile creeping onto their face. “Also, the hero was really small.” It was an addendum worth adding as Hades burst out laughing. “Smaller than you? Absolutely preposterous my-ouch!” As he’d brought a hand out to condescendingly pat his companion, teeth had nipped his fingers, just for a second. “Ah, a wound, a wound fatal to me, won’t you have mercy, terrible monster?”

Ira laughed, enough to hold across their waist as Hades spun, wobbled, and dropped onto the floor dramatically, feigning death. “Oh, such is my fate, to be slain by the villain,” he called out weakly, expecting more laughter, but finding it cut short. He opened his eyes and looked up, locking them with pale red ones blurry with tears. “No…” was the soft whisper that came from his companion. He felt cracks creeping in through the dream. _No. No, no, no,_ **_no, noNonoNO._ **

He was on his feet, arms wrapping around Ira tightly. “It’s alright my dear, it’s alright. Just a little bite, no damage done. Think me unused to your teeth?” 

Their breath was shaking, but slowly soothed, cracks filling in. “Just a bad dream I had. Felt a little too real.” His fingers tangled in their short hair, curling and softly stroking through. “Just a dream though. Nary even a mark on me.”

Ira’s fingers softly stroked along his sternum, where their waking nightmares had seen it a hole ripped straight through his body. But he was here, intact. “I’m sorry, Hades. I’ve been so far away from everything. This Concept I’ve been working on is due for presentation and-”

Hades perked up, tilting his head. “What concept, dear monster? Another one of your strange beasts; I thought you’d quite outdone yourself with the three-headed one.”

Ira laughed, shaking their head. “No, a little more mundane than that my love-”

Hades tensed, taking a breath. They didn’t even notice.

“-it’s a...tree. It’s, well, it’s better if I showed you.” Ira pushed the furniture in the apartment out of the way, rolling up their sleeves as they focused in for a moment, snapping their fingers. Hades made a soft huff, having noted their adoption of _his signature style._ He couldn’t hold it against them, though. It was a good way to show off.

A tree stood in the room in a plant pot big enough to hold the specimen, a bright green hue to its leaves, which were dense, finger-length with soft curls. Crinkled blooms coated its branches, the same red hue as Ira’s eyes, some tipped with white that seemed like ink bleeding in from the tips. Fist-sized, ruby-red fruit dangled lower, one of which Ira plucked from the tree and began to score the skin of with taloned fingers.

Body modification was not exactly kindly looked upon on in Amaurotine society, but Hades’ companion had quite the aptitude for polymorphism, often choosing to modify their own body in place of creating a tool for certain tasks. It was often why some of their playful nips _did_ leave a mark.

Talons dug into the scored circle around the fruit, pulling it apart with a crunch, showing pale cream pith and a sea of seeds encapsulated with shiny, angular flesh that made them look like jewels. “I...don’t know what to call it yet, but the important part is, look at it!” So excited, having spent most of their life creating strange beasts but having found a strange focus in their creation of a tree. A simple tree with beauty hidden beneath its fruit. Hades’ eyes welled up with tears, hugging Ira tight. “It’s wonderful.”

Ira plucked a seed from the pith with a talon, offering it over to Hades, before taking their own, biting down and letting it burst in their mouth. _Sweet, sour, floral, bitter._ The taste of Hades’ soul. Seeing the colour of a soul was one thing but few could taste or even smell one. Hythlodaeus was one of the few others so attuned to souls, and had told Ira that theirs smelled like warm summers, crushed tree leaves and fresh pastry. Of course, taste was strictly reserved for more intimate relationships which is perhaps why Hades had the most furious blush on his face.

“You mean to present a tree bearing fruit that tastes like…” He grumbled and sputtered, looking dramatically offended as Ira’s smile got wider and toothier by the moment. “You absolute monster, of course you, _you_ would do something like this, of course,” he continued ranting, Ira’s head tipping back to start laughing until silenced with an embarrassed kiss that lasted just long enough to silence them from their raucous cackling.

“Dreadful beast,” Hades teased.

His eyes found theirs, and a soft sigh passed his lips, knowing what he was about to say would break the dream in an instant.

“I love you.”

A lalafell woke up with a start, sitting bolt upright, scrambling back to press their back against the headboard of their bed. Hands, normal hands, unclawed hands touched down their body, their face, their hair, a distinct streak of silver now threaded through the front of their hair. A dream? A memory? Something in between. They’d heard his voice, seen his face he’d said...he’d said...

“I can’t yet decide if you pulled me back from the lifestream to gloat, or simply to slay me again. I didn’t think you so petty, hero.”

Ira’s eyes welled up, the taste of sweet floral fruit filled their mouth.

“Well? I’m waiting for an answer, warrior.”

Ira’s gaze lifted from their bed, across the room. Sitting on the far side of the table was a man robed in decorated silk, a streak of white hair, and gold eyes. Whatever sorrow Ira might have had in that moment evaporated as rage bubbled up in their throat. Scrambling to their feet, a tangle of arms and legs and bedding, finding their legs in frenzied motion, they sprinted across the room, jumped onto the table chair, lunged off the back of the chair, and leapt across the table, hand outstretched, palm outwards.

“EMET-SELCH!” Ira’s hand struck cleanly to the Ascian’s face, leaving a mark that flushed red immediately, and they would have likely gone for another had he not held them at bay with an outstretched arm, the lalafell growling furiously. He knew the warrior could twist out of his barely-resisting hold, but they chose to stay like that, supernova aether almost filling the room as anger stayed at a rolling boil.

“You’ve already beaten me into submission once, seems unkind to do so again. Now, I heard a voice call my name, call _me_ back from the aether I was so peacefully slumbering in. Was that you? I’d be very interested to hear my name again.” He spoke calmly as his free hand rubbed his face, the other still holding Ira at arm’s length, their hands only able to grab up to his elbow. What he didn’t expect to hear in those next few moments was soft weeping, Ira resting their forehead into his palm. The sun-searing aether falling slack, pooling onto the room’s floor, a soul too grand for its tiny housing.

“Emet-Selch…” The voice was barely above a whisper, their fingers holding onto his arm, afraid he might disappear at any moment.

“I didn’t mean that name, hero.” He stayed calm despite his confusion at his murderer’s tears. His gaze slid down to Ira’s left eye, which he recalled clearly as being white, and devoid of aether. Yet it was just as his own eyes now...and the scar across their chest, was just as the wound they had inflicted onto him. 

“What have you done, you fool?”

Ira couldn’t bring themself to speak his name, _that_ name now that he was here, in the flesh. Gods, they hoped he was and this wasn’t just a cruel dream. They couldn’t say that name. Not to his face. Not as they had in dreams of Amaurot, so proud of the tree.

The clawed tips of gloved fingers traced the jagged edges of the scar, slapped away by Ira’s hand. “Don’t touch me! Don’t come into my room, insult me and _touch me_!” They shrieked, tears spilling from their eyes. Ira slumped against his chest, curling their fingers to grip the soft silk robe and burying their face into the fabric. A demand to not be touched yet here, slumping into his body, sobbing uncontrollably.

Emet-Selch laid a hand on Ira’s shoulder, no further motion, just a gentle touch. “What have you done?” He asked once again, his arched brows drawn together in an emotion that looked strange on his face; worry.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. You deserved better. I remembered, I knew, it was too late and I knew and I remembered and _I’m sorry, Hades_ ,” the lalafell was barely coherent but Emet-Selch gave a soft intake of breath as he heard his name.

“So it was you who called me…” He trailed off, the grip tightening on Ira’s shoulder as the one question he had asked twice already was left unanswered. “ _Do you have any idea of what you've done?_ ” More forceful, more direct to the point; there was no dancing around his question. He made his concern for the Warrior of Light clear, and his instinct told him not to, but the baying demands of Zodiark were silent. He realised, in fact, that no demands were pulling at his soul at all. In the dreams he’d shared with Ira, with the memories the lalafell harboured, the only thing he cared about was them, even just the reassembled fragments they were.

“It wasn’t fair on you. I did what...I did what felt right.”

Emet-Selch’s grip loosened on Ira’s shoulder, moving to trace around brow bone down to cheekbone, a semicircle around Ira’s left eye. “You’ve made a terrible mistake, hero.” He said calmly. “This damage, it’s…”

“Worth it.”

Their hand laid upon his cheek and stroked, bicolour eyes staring, as if trying to cement his face into their memory, for fear he might disappear again. “And if this didn't work I was going to die trying.” This seriousness, this level of emotion, in all of the weeks they travelled together, Emet-Selch never saw, not even once. He had seen a boisterous, obnoxious ‘hero’ who thought far too highly of themselves, as heroes are wont to do. Not this. Never even the slightest inkling there was more emotional capacity in this small body.

He pushed them away with a growl. “You would claim to die trying to bring me back while the Rejoining could have been a far better use of your aether!” But, that was a goal his soul no longer craved. It was all he had known but it no longer gnawed at his mind like a rot. “You couldn't contain the Wardens light and you can’t even pluck a soul from the aether without _ruining yourself!_ ”

Yourself. He had said ‘yourself’, and not ‘it’. He kept saying the words he wanted to, so used he was to saying the words he was compelled to. He saw the soul Ira harbored, he saw the kindness and devotion and _infuriating tendencies_ , masked in layers of mummery and he denied it at every turn and _now_ the Warrior of Light had the audacity to drag him back-

“ _And for what?!_ ” Emet-Selch demanded. “You’ve bound my soul to you, made my existence as mortal as you, for what, _for what reason, hero?_ ” His rage spilled freely, pain marbling into his words as the weeping lalafell stared back, tears freely pouring from their eyes. “To give you a second chance. Live as a mortal with me, one more time, Hades.”

He saw the tether between them, how his aether had dispersed in their body, manifesting as a gold eye, wisps of white in their hair, how his wound had been taken on. It would have been just like _them_ to do a thing such as this. Ira was not them, however. Not like this. Not incomplete. Never. His heart felt like it could burst as it was _he_ who was denying them, not the howling shrieks of a hungry god.

Emet-Selch cast his gaze aside. “I can live as a mortal but I hardly have to live it beside _you_ . Regardless, your _generous_ offer is under consideration.” The hiss of a rift opening filled Ira’s ears, and before they could say any more, Emet-Selch was gone. Gone, but alive. Tangible.

A slow breath escaped Ira’s mouth, closing their eyes as more tears spilled. The shadows did not nip at their heels, and the weight of the anchor was all but gone, no longer reeling in a soul from the lifestream.

“Good enough for me,” they laughed hoarsely, drying their eyes on their shirt.

* * *

There’d been rain plenty of times on the first, but not the unrelenting deluge that currently persisted down, drowning out all but the loudest sounds in a relentless din of hissing and rumbling. Anywhere with shelter was crowded under, and Ira fully intended to go out in it. By their reckoning, Thancred and Ryne would be back at the Crystarium from their trip by evening. Reaching out on the spider’s web of threads, souls in close enough proximity, it was plain that of the Scions that oft visited the Crystarium, only Alphinaud and Alisae were currently present.

With a small gesture, a thin barrier of aether cast itself above Ira, deflecting the rain as they trudged across the plaza towards the Rookery, having recieved a note under their door when they woke. Clan Nutsy enjoyed the sport of hunting their targets but occasionally served the purpose of clearing a dangerous threat from a local region. On these times somehow, without fail, somebody would find Ira to tell them about it. People crowded under the stalls set up by the clan, and Ira stepped up to Halldor. “I was summoned?”

“Prompt as always, Baragawa! We got reports of a massive beast up in Il Mheg. Some kind of void-sent as you’n yours might call it.” Ira made a soft ‘huh’ of interest, holding their hand out for the bill. “No bill m’fraid. We sent a group out there not an hour ago ‘n I get the feeling they’ll need help.”

Ira tipped their head and shrugged lightly. Usually this case was reserved for more severe threats. Flexing their fingers and pressing a curled fist into open palm, they started to note the feeling in their veins again, the one they talked to Y’shtola about. The one they felt in the dream-

Ira pulled their attention back to the now.

“You’ll have one slain monster within four bells, you have my word.” 

Stepping back from the stands, the lalafell whistled, holding out an arm as a dragon swept by, catching the harness and soaring into the sky with it.

The deluge seemed to encroach on every inch of Norvrandt. Even as Ira soared over the mountain border between Lakeland and Il Mheg. The fog was almost as dense as the illusory mist that confounded the Scions the first time they stepped foot in the land of the fae. Instead of a pale, hazy green, dim grey with faint lights of aspected crystal jutting from the earth. They patted Midgardsormr’s side, the dragon taking Ira down low enough to jump off before it blinked back into the aether. In the rain it was hard to see or even hear where this alleged voidsent might be. In the fields just outside Lydha Lran was where the last report had been, but there wasn’t even a sound or sign that this might be the case. Not even the scent of blood on the air to indicate a fight or casualties could permeate the torrent beating down on the ground, making it wet and muddy. Regardless, Ira wandered like that for a while in the rain, until they reached near the water where the... _giant beavers_ had been. But not today, and for that Ira was thankful.

Ira became notably aware that the rain was not striking as hard on the ground near them, and turned their head slowly to greet the visage of a red-eyed beast coated in brown and tan fur, a red glow seeping from cracks in its body, four horns pointed forward and wings, huge wings that shaded Ira from the rain looming above its behemoth-like visage. “Twelve fore-”

They leapt back as a huge clawed fist was brought down on the ground, crushing flowers and churning earth into mud that sprayed everywhere. Already wielding their focus and rapier, a flood of summoned swords pelted into the huge beast, piercing through muscles to leave wounds of light when the swords dissipated. The smell of blood hung on the beast’s breath. The adventurers sent out not a couple of hours ago.

Pulling from their own aether, the lalafell tumbled and hopped around the huge beast, too small and swift a target for it to easily hit. Blazing fire that burned hot enough for the rain to evaporate around it struck the beast’s hide, followed by shards of stone. Ira dredged deep through their own energy, a glasslike flower of aether blooming beneath its feet, before shattering into thousands of pieces like glass, puncturing leathery pelt, making the beast howl in such a way it pierced through Ira, their bones feeling brittle and their muscles weak. They shook their head, drawing enough aether to heal the superficial damage, bouncing out of the way as its claws slammed down where they had been standing seconds ago.

Its tail swung and Ira immediately cast another healing spell, bones breaking and immediately snapping back together as they were sent flying. Panting and frustrated, another array of summoned rapiers pinned the beast to the ground through its feet, slicing through its calm muscles enough to make it slow.

Their veins burned like fire, a monstrous power in their aether begging to be let loose just like the first time they had found themself attuned to the Dreadwyrm. This was something different, something _ancient._

Distantly, Ira realised that it was their own aether, the person they remembered being in Amaurot _._ And they had to let it out. _Let it out._ **_Let it out._ **

The summoned swords dissipated, the beast roaring as it charged at the lalafell. Ira swallowed anxiously, letting the leash they’d put on this feeling go. A barely contained, monstrous supernova exploded inside them.

Their focus glowed bright and shattered, leaving them with a rapier as the pulled themself into the charging beast via an aetheric tether, slicing through its pelt and underneath its legs as Ira slid through the mud underneath it, calling on disciplines all but forgotten as its wounds begun to fester and sparks of aether blinded its eyes, fire, stone and wind ripping through its pelt. The beast twisted to bring its claws down, but reeled as a heavy shield impacted with its face, bouncing back to its owners hand.

Ira turned, the same warrior from yesterday, dressed in armour with careful curves, plates and scales of metal trimmed in gold, face obscured by a full helm that rattled in the near hurricane the storm had turned into. It was almost Garlean. The armour of a Legatus.

The thought was filed and indexed with rapidity as the plated warrior threw their shield into the beast’s face again, making it reel and catching it on their arm on the return bounce, sinking sword into its arms as it went to swing with enough strength to hold the beast in position. Ira lunged in, springing off a shield held as a step, throwing their rapier into the beast’s throat, feet finding purchase on its hilt, snapping the blade in two as their feet jumped off of it, running across its head and neck, sliding down its back, the sharp claws of their gauntlets breaking skin. Unarmed in weapon but with enough aether and innate focus, Ira and the warrior danced around the huge monster, lighting up the fog with fire and lightning. Blue-gold and berry-gold aether tangled and weaved around each other, two warriors attuned to each other. A lucky swipe from the beast’s tail sent the black-clad warrior flying, and Ira shrieked in panic, calling **_Hades!_ ** in a language they once spoke, millennia ago. 

Rage burned through their soul as Ira’s ears rang with an old feeling they’d not heard in a long time, an echo of purple and gold wings framing their body as aether expended from their body in the form of a blinding white pillar, an echo of the Dreadwyrm’s own Akh Morn.

Ira tumbled across the ground, mud covering their clothes as they saw the huge beast collapse, groaning as aether leaked from their body, smoldering with the amount of force that they had exerted when letting _that feeling_ off of its leash. They found their soul blanketed by a cold, berry and gold abyss. Panting, they lifted their head to regard the swordsman who had twice helped them in a pinch. The swordsman whose aether was identical to…

“E...Emet..” Ira panted. “Emet-Selch?” He had his back turned, pushing himself upright using his shield, eventually dropping it once he was firmly on two feet, raising fingers to snap them clearly, the clouds shifting, moving on and taking the rain with them, leaving a mild blue sky, and Ira staring straight up at it, flat on their back in the mud.

“I’ve considered your offer.” His voice was distorted by the armour, in the way Garlean voices often were by their helmets. He pulled the helmet off and unclipped the collar around it, revealing auburn hair streaked with white, a bony Garlean ridge on his forehead, and eyes. Eyes gold like a midsummer sunset. Gold like the filigree of Amaurot. “And I accept.”

Ira laughed, stumbling to their feet. “This is not exactly how I intended for this to go down; caked in mud, probably some internal injuries...Did you really spend any time considering, or were you just trying to hurt me?” The lalafell took one step toward Emet-Selch, and a second, stumbling back down to their knees. “You saved me yesterday; had you already decided then?”

He was silent for a long while. “You dream not of what you are, but what you were. I knew that person, and when I realised, when I tasted…I see so much of _them_ in you still.” A gold-swirled abyss settled about Ira posessively, supporting the aether-drained lalafell as they stood up. “An awful little demon contained in mortal flesh?” They produced a dry laugh, a half-smile for the Ascian. “Just so, dear monster.”

It rang in Ira’s ears, an echo of their dream, a term of endearment that was theirs. Something they didn’t know they’d been longing to hear until that very moment.

“Now, since it cannot be guaranteed that your friends will _not_ immediately try to end my now _notably mortal_ existence, walking back into the Exarch’s little playground seems a fool’s errand, does it not, hero?” He rubbed his chin in thought, looking at the lalafell attempting to close the rest of the gap between them. “You’re filthy,” he stated, snapping his fingers and cleansing Ira’s clothes of the mud caked into them. “Well it’s just gonna keep getting like that if I have to _walk_ anywhere.” A grin with a bit of tooth, looking up at Emet-Selch. He remembered this, and he did not like that smile.

“You absolutely cannot be serious.”

Ira lifted one foot to take a step, wobbling dramatically. Emet-Selch, flustered, shouted a name Ira couldn’t hear, pulling the lalafell onto his shoulder. “You are a dreadful beast of burden and I regret this decision with every passing second.”

“No you don’t, Emet.”

Emet-Selch was silent, for once, a slow smile pulling at his face as he opened a rift, stepping through it with Ira upon his shoulder, fading from the rain-soaked fields of Il Mheg.

As if he would ever concede to that.


End file.
